 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
61
A PRELUDE OF NIGHT.
Over the waters far there came,
At the birth of the evening star, a voice
Like music low:
Unto the heart alone it spake,
With the stress of the ocean tone.
At the birth of the evening star, a voice
Like music low:
Unto the heart alone it spake,
With the stress of the ocean tone.
“Mine is the reign of peace,” it said,
“Day's restless throbbings cease in me;
The fevered glow
Of her o'er-wearied feet subsides
Beneath my kisses sweet.
“Day's restless throbbings cease in me;
The fevered glow
Of her o'er-wearied feet subsides
Beneath my kisses sweet.
“My starry arch doth link this calm
Of twilight to the brink of her
Pale sister-hour,
While trembling shadows weave in one
All stranger souls that grieve.
Of twilight to the brink of her
Pale sister-hour,
While trembling shadows weave in one
All stranger souls that grieve.
“Light is the keen-edged blade that cleaves
The spirits kindred made in dreams:
My gentle power
Breathes into souls apart a sigh
From the day's breaking heart.
The spirits kindred made in dreams:
My gentle power
Breathes into souls apart a sigh
From the day's breaking heart.
62
“Noon hath no gift of tears: her eye
Burns with a glance that sears the wings
Of tender thought;
And from its lidless fire, aghast,
All fairy throngs retire.
Burns with a glance that sears the wings
Of tender thought;
And from its lidless fire, aghast,
All fairy throngs retire.
“Night is the elder child of God;
His brooding spirit mild, as ere
The light was wrought,
Still, for its wonted rest, returns
To her dark-sheltered breast.”
His brooding spirit mild, as ere
The light was wrought,
Still, for its wonted rest, returns
To her dark-sheltered breast.”
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |